I wrote this on the bus ride from Paris to Rennes, a description of our first sight of the French countryside.
About 100km from Rennes, September 5th
Brittany, as we drive through the landscape to get to Rennes, is full of rolling hills
that, when the trees lining the highway break and permit a view, take your
breath away. They meander into the distance and although you cannot see over the
farthest one, you know it continues to crest and dip, dotted with small stone
farm houses. Some look as though they are falling apart, some have solar panels
on them. Some are clearly uninhabited while when we passed others, a farm was at
work in his fields. We passed a field of sunflowers, their heads bowed because of
the absence of sunlight. Cows graze placidly on the bright green grass fields,
undisturbed by the rain. The landscape is both familiar looking and not. You
almost think it looks like a more rural area of New Jersey, but there is
something just different about it. It's hard to put a finger on it.
True to Brittany, it began to rain the closer we got to Rennes. And of course my rain
jacket is in my suitcase which is somewhere in limbo, missing as I write this on
the bus. It's alright. It will show up. The sky is a solid gray, the individual
clouds impossible to distinguish, but it makes the hills look misty and
mysterious. Every so often a church spire rises above a small village of stone
buildings, pricking the cloud cover and trying, without success to break it.
Even in this foreign place, they are working on a construction project. The resident
director of the school, who is seated right in front of me on the bus tells me
they're putting in a brand new TGV line, train la
grande vitesse.
It was a long journey, first an almost seven hour flight and then a four and a half
hour bus ride, made longer by the lunch stop we made, where they provided
sandwiches on mini baguettes. We picnicked at a rest stop. There was a Dutch
family there and the children were playing on the playground. It felt comforting
to hear even the few words they said.
Speaking of words and languages, my French, although still not great, is better than I
thought. I can read quite a bit and speaking so far has been okay with the
little bit I've done. Some of it comes more naturally than I had expected. I'm
excited to learn, to absorb. As I write this we pass a sign that tells me Rennes
is now 63km away.
Waiting in Rennes for me is a host mother, host cat and a brand new school. It's still
raining right now, a steady misting drizzle. But the temperature is pleasant.
*(Just a note: about fifteen minutes after I wrote this our bus broke down and ended up taking another two hours total to reach Rennes, when we were about 20 miles from it. C'est la vie. )
About 100km from Rennes, September 5th
Brittany, as we drive through the landscape to get to Rennes, is full of rolling hills
that, when the trees lining the highway break and permit a view, take your
breath away. They meander into the distance and although you cannot see over the
farthest one, you know it continues to crest and dip, dotted with small stone
farm houses. Some look as though they are falling apart, some have solar panels
on them. Some are clearly uninhabited while when we passed others, a farm was at
work in his fields. We passed a field of sunflowers, their heads bowed because of
the absence of sunlight. Cows graze placidly on the bright green grass fields,
undisturbed by the rain. The landscape is both familiar looking and not. You
almost think it looks like a more rural area of New Jersey, but there is
something just different about it. It's hard to put a finger on it.
True to Brittany, it began to rain the closer we got to Rennes. And of course my rain
jacket is in my suitcase which is somewhere in limbo, missing as I write this on
the bus. It's alright. It will show up. The sky is a solid gray, the individual
clouds impossible to distinguish, but it makes the hills look misty and
mysterious. Every so often a church spire rises above a small village of stone
buildings, pricking the cloud cover and trying, without success to break it.
Even in this foreign place, they are working on a construction project. The resident
director of the school, who is seated right in front of me on the bus tells me
they're putting in a brand new TGV line, train la
grande vitesse.
It was a long journey, first an almost seven hour flight and then a four and a half
hour bus ride, made longer by the lunch stop we made, where they provided
sandwiches on mini baguettes. We picnicked at a rest stop. There was a Dutch
family there and the children were playing on the playground. It felt comforting
to hear even the few words they said.
Speaking of words and languages, my French, although still not great, is better than I
thought. I can read quite a bit and speaking so far has been okay with the
little bit I've done. Some of it comes more naturally than I had expected. I'm
excited to learn, to absorb. As I write this we pass a sign that tells me Rennes
is now 63km away.
Waiting in Rennes for me is a host mother, host cat and a brand new school. It's still
raining right now, a steady misting drizzle. But the temperature is pleasant.
*(Just a note: about fifteen minutes after I wrote this our bus broke down and ended up taking another two hours total to reach Rennes, when we were about 20 miles from it. C'est la vie. )